


Lest Darkness Falls on Yorknew

by thousandyearwitch



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Food, Food is People, Happy Halloween, Homoeroticism, Intimidation, M/M, POV Alternating, Questioned multiple times if I'm pushing past the T rating, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Pariston Hill, Vampires, Werewolf Ging Freecs, Werewolves, but like only barely historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thousandyearwitch/pseuds/thousandyearwitch
Summary: High Priestess of Yorknew, Cheadle Yorkshire, is troubled by recent developments. Livestock and people have started to disappear or end up slaughtered, and people turn to her and the church in hope of saving.Could it truly be that the new owner of the hillside mansion has something to do with it?Investigating by herself may be more dangerous than she thinks..
Relationships: Ging Freecs/Pariston Hill
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

The evening sun set across the valley of Yorknew, the soft light hitting the stained glass of the chapel. High priestess Cheadle started lighting the candles around the small alter, careful to put any flammable offerings of to the side. Many townspeople had tried to convince her that there was no need to keep the chapel open through the night, but she had gotten used to reject their concerns. After all, it wasn’t just a house of worship, but a safe-house and refuge for anyone who may need it.

And lately, it seemed like people needed it more and more.

The past few weeks had become increasingly strange and frightening to everyone. More and more livestock had disappeared or turned up slaughtered, and rumours of vanished villagers had started to circle. In the night, people would beg in front of the chapel doors to find shelter in the arms of a higher power, convinced that a lingering presence was going to pull them into the darkness otherwise. So, the priestess would grant them shelter, and let them wait out the night. Who was she to deny them faith, even it was only temporary in the face of danger?

The last of the red-wax candles had been lit, as the cherry oak wood doors of the chapel opened. A slender silhouette stepped through, gracefully descending the aisle towards Cheadle. As the doors snapped shut, the dimmed light through stained glass and candles revealed the figure and hugged her soft features.   
“Lady Cheadle, may I have a word?” Gels soft voice echoed in the hall, and though she still carried herself with her usual composure and pride, nervousness flickered behind her eyes.   
“Of course, what concerns you?”

“The people have been restless. Talk about a monster reaping animals and humans is surfacing, a hunter in the dead of night, they are looking for someone to blame...” The taller woman laid her right hand over her heart and averted her eyes from the bright altar. Cheadle smelled trouble.

“…Some have resorted to accusing me of being some sort of creature of the night.” Figured. When things go wrong, most often people would seek an explanation in monsters, or God. And usually Cheadle would leave them to draw their conclusions like that, there had never been a reason to interfere in human reasoning. But when people start to point fingers at each other, that is when things become dangerous. Hysteria, Accusations, Murders. And between all of that, people would request the churches high judgement. A hassle in organisation, work, and moral justifications. If the worst would have come to the worst, higher branches of the church would have to intervene. _No, this must end before it may even begin._

“I have spent my entire life in this town, Lady Cheadle, this is my home, and I would never hurt anyone here. I don’t want to be forced to leave because of baseless rumours that threaten my safety.” For a second, Cheadle was able to imagine why someone would claim that Gel was not human. The way her sleek, black hair hugged her figure; The way her teal eyes were clear and piercing even in the dark. Her aura could easily make any room feel suffocating and intimidating if she wanted it to. And of course, that terrifying pet snake she kept enclosed in her home, shining black like her hair.   
But Gel was more than that. She was also a dedicated and passionate community helper, had been working in the mayor’s office for almost a decade now, and once in a while the people of the village were able to listen to her gentle voice recite love poems late nights in the tavern.

“Anyone has the capabilities to take a life, but it takes a soul abandoned by all gods to commit the act. You are not that kind of person, anyone willing to look can see love and spirit in your soul. You’re human, Gel, and I will help you prove your innocence.” Cheadle gently placed her hand on the taller woman’s shoulder, an act of compassion and reassurance.

But in her head, all the priestess could think of was, _How the hell am I going to do that?_

* * *

The sun had long set, as the quiet night enveloped the valley in darkness. The high priestess sat at the altar, pondering this new quest she had gotten herself roped into. Proving someone’s innocence is easier said than done if the people have already made their minds up about someone’s guilt.   
Once more the chapel doors creaked open, though this time it was only a stray dog carefully stepping down the hall. _Even animals can sense the danger lingering._   
The animal sat beside Cheadle, resting its head on her lap with a soft whine. Dogs were truly man’s best friend, creatures full of empathy, trust, and trained skill. A well-trained dog can execute any task, its only motivation being treats and affection. She petted the dogs head, “If only you could solve this problem for me…”

A cold wind threatened to blow out the freshly lit candles, prompting Cheadle to rise and hurry to close the doors. However, first she let her sight wander of the valley below, distant lights fighting against the night.

And the mansion at the other side of the village, hugging into the mountains. A shiver ran down Cheadle’s spine at the sight of the bright lights penetrating even from so far, a mockery of how riches can even bring you the sun into your very home.

5 Weeks ago, the entire mansion had been bought by a man and his “entourage”. Though the people that live there with him have been barely seen, the owner of the house had the decency to introduce himself to the most prominent townspeople- the mayor, the banker, the tavern owner, and of course the High Priestess herself.   
He was flashy to a painful degree. He wore a Baker-Miller pink suit, glossed black shoes, and flaxen hair that Cheadle doubted was natural. During his introduction he flashed a smile at her, so bright it was almost blinding, but his eyes reflected none of it, instead just revealing a deep darkness. He had shook her hand, told her about how he was so lucky to meet her in town that evening so he didn’t have to make the exhausting walk up the mountains to the chapel, and introduced himself as “Pariston Hill”.   
It was all fake smiles and pretentious flattery. Cheadle could smell dishonesty all over him, nauseating and repulsing.

That encounter had been 5 weeks ago.

The first missing person’s report had been filed a week later. 

A cold shiver ran down Cheadle’s spine. _Could it be…?_


	2. Chapter 2

Cheadle wasn’t sure where to start. The sun had risen, and a new day came with a new goal: To investigate the Hill Mansion and the people within. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the atmosphere of the town had changed as soon as these people had arrived. But what happened to those who had disappeared?

In the end, she had decided to go early into town and ask others if they had noticed anything suspicious, trying to leave names out for now. But she didn’t have to ask around for long before a young girl selling flowers nervously fidgeted closer.   
“The gentleman that lives in the old mansion is an… odd one, Priestess.”

“How so?”

“Two nights ago, I was walking home from the town over, I had forgotten the time…He surprised me from the alleyway. Asked if I was cold, and if I needed a place to stay. I told him no, I was almost home, but he kept talking about a warm meal and company. And despite knowing better, for a second, I thought about…actually reaching for his hand. But my mother called for me, thank the Lord.”  
Alarm bells rang throughout Cheadle’s mind, _suspicious suspicious suspicious._

“I don’t want to say he’s a bad man! Maybe it was a sincere offer, but lately, you know, it just hasn’t been save…” The girl tried to stutter out more, but Cheadle gently took her hands into her own.   
“You need not say more. Thank you for opening up to me, you did the right thing by leaving.” This seemed to have calmed the girl enough to say a light goodbye and made her way towards the marketplace.   
Cheadle sighed, a knot tying in her chest. It had only been one person who gave a suspicious account of Pariston Hill so far, but it felt like it made sense.   
And it would continue to make sense, as more and more people gave accounts of strange encounters with Pariston, people associated with him, or around the old mansion. Often it would just be described as an “odd and eerie” feeling, though a handful of people had talked with inhabitants of the mansion and expressed discomfort and a feeling of immediate danger.

Perhaps it was just over imagination, or a drive to please. Cheadle asked about suspicious activity, and people could satisfy the need to gossip. Just like how some people felt the need to talk about “that weird snake lady” or “that guy in the woods”. Though Cheadle was less eager to defend the later.

But what was she to do with these new accusations running rampant in her mind? She couldn’t just run up to the guy and ask him his business, and if he has dead, _Lord no - hopefully alive,_ bodies piled up in the basement.   
Lost deeply in her thoughts, the setting sun had slipped her mind, and soon she was engulfed in the dim light of the town’s streetlamps.

_“I felt the hairs at the back of my neck stand-up”_ Is what one person had said, and she felt it.

_“Every little part of my body suddenly wanted to run, no matter where, just away”_ Another recalled, and she felt it.

_“He appeared out of nowhere”_ One described, and she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Lovely evening for a stroll, isn’t it, Lady Cheadle?” The Priestess turned around to face Pariston, this time dressed in a vermillion suit. His eyes pierced through her, as if he tried to strip layers of her skin off her with just one look.

“How funny, I was just thinking of how lovely it would be to be comfortable in my own home. I’ll be on my way- “

“Let me accompany you. I heard it has gotten somewhat dangerous to wander the streets alone as of late.” The hand on Cheadle’s shoulder grasped slightly firmer, insistent.

“The walk up to the chapel is strenuous, I’d rather not bother putting you through that work.”

“And I’d rather not have the towns beloved priestess be found slaughtered like a lamb at the chapels steps.” Cheadle’s blood ran cold. Was he trying to threaten her, or was she merely listening to the ramblings of an odd man? Slowly, carefully, she turned her heels on the road, determined to not let herself be cornered.

“If you insist, you can walk me to the edge of town. From what I’ve heard, most suspicious activity happened in the town itself.”

Pariston stepped smoothly to her side, and flashed another smile, satisfied. “From what you’ve heard? Are you perhaps priestess by day, detective by night?”

Cheadle waited for him to be finished with chuckling at his own joke before she carefully chose her words. “I’ve been merely curious if someone might have been witness to an abduction or has any clues to a possible explanation for all of this.”   
The man leaned forward and looked expectantly at her, though she took a couple more steps in silence before continuing. “Though no abduction has been witnessed, it seems the people have possible culprits figured out. But perhaps they are just wildly pointing fingers.”

“And who are those fingers pointing to?”

“Anyone who is deemed worthy of it- the source of a long-held grudge, someone that stands out unfavourably, _strangers_...” Their eyes met sharply as Cheadle bit her tongue, afraid she might have said too much already.

“My, my, that’s a lot of options. You know, I used to help a detective once when I was younger, maybe I should try to _sink my teeth_ into this case...”

The Priestess stopped in her tracks for a second, startled by the remark. It was a common expression, yet it sounded wrong and twisted said by him and his shining grin. The edge of town was only a couple of meters away, the path up to the chapel laid dark further ahead.

“Unless of course, the people would have any reason to accuse me and my associates of these accidents.”

They were engulfed in the light of the last streetlamp marking the end of town, and Cheadle came to a halt, Pariston still at her side, though he was looking straight ahead into the darkness. “But they wouldn’t have any reason to, would they?”

She faced him and raised her head in defiance. “You’re a stranger. If the people find you suspicious, they’ll have their reasons.”

He giggled lowly in response, slowly cocking his head to return her stare. “I’m a little hurt. I always thought people of this area were nice and welcoming.”

“They are, if their life isn’t at stake.”

“Maybe I just have to change their minds about me. If their treasured Priestess would be convinced of my innocence, I’m sure they’d follow suit. How about you accompany me for food and drink, Lady Cheadle? My associates would love to have you for dinner.” He reached for her hand, which she quickly withdrew, and took a step back.

“The offer is appreciated, though I’m afraid I have to refuse.”

“Please, I insist. I’m a surprisingly good cook, my filet mignon is to die for. “ His dark eyes pierced through hers again, and suddenly she felt weak in her steps. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder again. “You want to accompany me, don’t you?”   
The ringing of alarm bells grew stronger in her ears, but most of her strength had left her body. _Kick him, bite him, punch him, scream for anybody to help,_ none of her commands seemed to reach her limbs.   
“A pretty, young lady like you shouldn’t stick her nose in dangerous business, dear priestess.” He whispered in her ear, followed by a chuckle. And as he stepped back, Cheadle’s feet followed, no longer under her own command.   
_Is this how I die, Lord? Slaughtered by the very beast I tried to protect others from?_

Her body continued to follow Paristons, as he walked along the edge of town, strategically dodging light sources and spying eyes. Cheadle prayed for forgiveness, for strength, for any divine intervention.

And suddenly a scream echoed through the night, sharp and high pitched. Just as suddenly, Cheadle felt all her strength return to her, master over her own body once more. In front of her, Pariston started cursing at a dog that had dug its teeth firmly into his calf. The gashing wound had covered most of his lower leg in blood in a matter of seconds.   
Cheadle took this opportunity to turn and run. But where to?

_The Police? There was probably a good reason that they haven’t started an investigation of their own so far. Maybe they have been manipulated or bought out._

_The Chapel? That’s the first place he’ll come looking for me if he decides to come after me._

_Gel? I can’t put her in even more danger._

She made her way up the path at the side of the mountain, though she turned left, away from the chapel. There was only one person she could ask for help. A person not involved with the town. A person just as dangerous and foolish as Pariston.

The dirt and stone path had turned overgrown with grass the deeper she ran into the woods. The darkness around her grew thicker, and the only sound were her quick footsteps and quicker breaths.   
Minutes in this silence passed, until the woods cleared around her, and a small cabin revealed itself. It looked fairly old, the wood splintering and worn down from weather.   
But inside a light was burning.

Cheadle came to a halt at the door, knocking and rattling at the handle.   
“Ging! Please open, Ging!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 Chapters in, I hope someone can find some joy in this. Hopefully I'll actually finish it before Halloween haha.   
> Thank you for reading. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Night had fallen, and the sound of cracking wood in a fireplace filled the space. The cottages insulation was poor, but a fire and sheep-wool blankets kept the cold out just fine.   
Ging Freecs had not built this home, but he gladly had taken it for himself when he left his true home shortly after the birth of his only son. He didn’t need much, except for clothes on his back and food in his stomach.

Of course, there had been times when even that hadn’t been a given. Fingertips swollen from cold weather, and not knowing when a fresh meal would cross his path. An existence almost not worth living, an existence that he knew he wasn’t the only one suffering through it. An existence and a curse.

He wondered if his son had already started showing first symptoms of lycanthropy, reminisced his own claws and teeth growing, sharpening, and the ever-growing need for raw, fresh meat. His first hunt, his first successful kill, the first taste of flesh freshly separated from a living organism. The nostalgia got cut short by Gings’ stomach rumbling. _Three more days till the next hunt. Got to stay patient if I don’t want to get my ass beat.,_ he tried to convince himself. But someone else had started taking livestock from Yorknews farms. In some parts of the country, hunting in a werewolf’s’ territory was an open invitation for conflict. Even though Yorknew wasn’t Gings official territory, having someone else reap his prey would cause problems in the long run.

He had kept a schedule. Not by choice, of course, but it worked. Set days for when he could reap livestock from certain marked farms, neatly organized with little patterns as to not raise suspicions. It kept him fed without causing too much trouble for himself or others. _But now someone else is causing trouble for me._ Reaping at the same farm as the unknown threat would become too much of a trouble for the farmer, and multiple livestock going missing from different farms in a span of a few days would make people more alert and willing to set up traps. Not to mention the rumours that sheep weren’t the only thing going missing. Ging bitterly chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Suddenly, frantic knocking startled him out of his chair. _An angry mob- no, my son- no, my sister-, no-_

“Ging! Please open, Ging!” The familiar voice pulled him out of his panic. Cheadle Yorkshire, the person who (begrudgingly) saved him from deaths door. It had been a couple of years already, but this had been the first time he had heard her voice so strained, so…fearful.

Ging opened the door, and immediately got pushed aside. The door snapped shut, and the younger woman pressed her shaking body against it, as if trying to prevent it from breaking down any second. She was pale, gasping for air, hair and clothes messed up. _The people not a fan of the new church tax?_ Before he could even try to snap a remark, Cheadle gasped once more for air, “I want to take that favour you owe.”

* * *

It had been a couple of years ago. Ging had been run out of yet another village and had been wandering the mountains for days. A streak of unsuccessful hunts had left him with little strength, causing him to eventually collapse in the deep woods.

_Maybe dying in nature isn’t so bad. I can listen to the birds, that I can’t catch, mocking me. The sun is gonna keep me nice and warm. These mushrooms can use me as fertilizer, so at least someone can eat. These shoes can use me as soil to trample on- Shoes?_

“Hey, are you okay?” A young woman had crouched down and turned to look at the weak man. She was clad in white, and next to her stood a basket with freshly picked mushrooms.

“I think I’m dying.” Ging tried not to get dirt in his mouth while mustering the energy to speak. “I haven’t eaten in days.”

He could feel her mustering him from head to toe. His headdress hiding his ears had most likely come undone, his claws had gone uncut for weeks, and his fangs were uncomfortably shifting over his lips when speaking.   
The young woman’s brows furrowed.

“Spare silver bullet, ma’am?” Gings dry throat ached when he spoke, but he wanted to at least die with a sly grin on his lips.

“Do you only eat meat?” Her soft voice didn’t match her calculated tone.   
“It’s the only thing that gives me energy.”  
“Do you eat humans?”   
“Never, not once in my life.” He didn’t miss a beat in his reply. Whoever this was, he wanted the person to witness his death know he had some semblance of honour. Through all struggles, all desires and hunger, never had he attacked a human.

“Do you want to live?”

The rest of the day was a blur. Ging didn’t remember how she had helped him up, practically carried him to a small chapel. He didn’t remember if they had talked at all on the way, if he had even answered her question.   
But he remembered the smell of fresh blood. Remembered the woman walking into the small backroom of the chapel and presenting him with a plate of raw meat, still holding a bloodied knife, and placing a second plate on the altar.

They exchanged names after Ging had come back to his senses. It took 3 plates of freshly cut lamb, and an entire pitcher of cold water.

“My name is Cheadle Yorkshire, newly admitted High Priestess of Yorknew.” The line sounded practiced and yet stilted.

Ging licked the plate clean of any leftover juices. “Well, Cheadle Yorkshire, what gives that you’d risk your newly admitted position for a dog like me?”

She grabbed the plate from him with a grimace, before disregarding it to the edge of the table. “Isn’t it the virtuous thing to do, to help someone in need?”

“You know what I am, I could easily turn this village into a slaughterhouse.”

“A dying man rarely lies; you could have attacked me on the spot.”   
“So you assume.”  
Cheadle hesitated, “So I assume. I’ve never met someone of your… affliction.”   
“I guess most werewolves are better at surviving than I am.” He scratched his beard that had already gotten past a tolerable length for him.

“Do you have a place to stay?”   
“I saw a pretty comfortable cave on my way.”

Cheadle rolled her eyes, “So you want to go back into the woods, and potentially starve, again?”  
“Maybe I’ll die of thirst for a change.”

For a few seconds, there was silence. Ging grew uneasy under Cheadle’s sharpened gaze, until she finally sighed, and turned to look out of a small stained-glass window.   
“If you’d be offered help, shelter, and secure food income, would you take it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you offer it, free of charge?”

“Nothing in life is free, Ging Freecs, not even gods grace. But all that I ask of you, is that someday you’ll return the favour. Don’t be useless to me.”

* * *

Ging waited for Cheadle to have taken a couple of deep breaths, though her eyes were quickly darting around. “What the hell happened?”

“Someone is after my life- I mean, I think I know who abducted all those people, and he tried to take me with him and, oh Lord, he must be-“ She stumbled over her words between gasps and clutching at her heart, as if it took all of her strength to recall what happened. Finally, she raised her head, starring directly at the werewolf. 

“I think we are dealing with a vampire. Maybe a full covenant of them.”

Ging felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, and grinded his teeth. Suddenly he felt hyper aware of an invading presence, closing in.

He looked out of his window, and deep in the woods, shrouded in darkness, glowing eyes looked back at him. Unmoving, unblinking.

“They are not going to attack you here; invading werewolf territory wouldn’t be in their favour.” He drew the dusty curtains close, as if they were a second barrier. 

“Let me stay here until dawn regardless.” Cheadle’s breathing had seemed to have calmed down and took a step away from the door.

“Is that the favour you’re asking for?”

“No” The Priestess straightened her posture, “I am asking you to eliminate Pariston Hill.”

Ging raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem very, you know” He waved his hand around, “Virtuous? Righteous? Forgiving? Holy?”

Suddenly, she stepped forward, fists clenched, until she was only a few inches away from his face. “That monster is merely disguising himself as a human; God has abandoned his soul when he first tasted human blood, and once again when he chose to attack and threaten a holy Priestess. There is no redemption for this monster, death is the only solution to such a pathetic existence.”

“And you want me to be the executioner?”

She pressed her index finger into his chest, “You owe me, Ging Freecs. Take his life and save your own and those of everyone living here.”

“Only in exchange for four things, which will help me with this task, your holiness.” He brushed her finger away quickly.

Cheadle leaned back again, mustering his face. “What do you need?”

“A stake, a cross, holy water, and of course” Ging flashed a grin, “a ‘please’.”

“I should have let you decompose in the dirt where you were laying!”

“But you didn’t! Now give me what I need, it’s of utmost importance for my mission.” He indulged happily in getting a rise out of the young priestess.

“You are vile, dirty, and almost as inhumane as Pariston, so _please_ go and get him and yourself killed!” Her voice was still at a controlled volume, but Ging could easily tell that he had successfully robbed her of her last nerve. She pushed past him and headed into the small guest room. The door closed behind her, and a lock clicked.

And Ging suddenly realized he had just been hired as a hitman by the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I hope ill get this done by halloween" jokes on myself, im slow  
> thank you for your support, i hope you'll continue to enjoy this. <3


	4. Chapter 4

_What the hell am I doing?_ Ging cursed himself as he surveyed the hillside manor towering above Yorknew. The sun had freshly set, and darkness had spread over everything in the valley, except for the oil lantern Ging carried and the bright lights of the mansion in front of him.   
The mansion was framed by black wrought-iron fences, around 7 feet tall, melting into each other at a large front gate. Behind the gate, a stone path lead straight to the front door.   
There was no patrol outside, though Ging wondered if they could still sense him as much as he could sense them. The hairs at the back of his neck had stood up as soon as he had entered the area, his ears were twitching with the faintest trace of sound or movement, and his teeth felt uncomfortable in his own mouth, itching to bite down into whatever he could find.   
_What am I even supposed to do? ‘Eliminate’ my ass, am I just supposed to ring the door? Ding Dong Hello yes, it’s me, a Werewolf, here to kill your coven leader-_ A shadow passed by a window on the second floor, and Gings attention got drawn back. Tall, upright statue, they had already mostly walked out of view. But for a moment, the shadow stood still, their left shoulder and half of their face still blurry and dark in the window.

And even though it was too dark to tell,

And he was hidden from sight,

Ging felt like they were looking directly at him.

Instinctively he hid behind the tree he was leaning on, and killed the fire of his oil lamp, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, shivers crept up his spine, his muscles tensed. His hand shot to his pocket to grab the cross Cheadle had provided for him. Pure iron bathed in holy water, uncomfortably warm to the touch for a werewolf, painfully hot and burning to a vampire.  
Ging had never interacted face to face with a vampire before, and yet something deep withing him recognized this piercing gaze as something inherently hostile and predatory. A century old feud that would carry on with generations, a natural born hatred for each other, its groundwork laid in territory conflicts and a right to hunt.

Everything around him felt intensified, more suspicious, from the cold breeze cutting his skin, to the creaking of old trees under their own weight. Leaves on the ground rustled with either footsteps or a gust of wind. Somewhere a twig snapped. Ging bit down harder on his check, until the comfort of warm blood engulfed his mouth, bitter and tainted.

Silence.  
Despite his heart beating heavily against his chest, Ging slowly turned around to check on the window. Clear, no trace of anyone. No sign of anyone exiting the mansion, either. Ging sighed with relief and leaned with his shoulder against the tree. His body was still alert, twitching and tensing, but it seemed like he wasn’t in any danger.

“Ah, I knew I saw a lost puppy wandering out here~” Before Ging could fully turn around and process what happened, a hand wrapped firmly around his throat, and lifted him off the ground.

He was face to face with who he could only assume was Pariston Hill. Blonde Hair, tall, lean, wearing a golden herringbone suit so ridiculously shiny, that Ging would have made a joke if his windpipe weren’t being crushed. Dark brown eyes were closely examining the werewolf, and slowly, Paristons lips parted to reveal sharp fangs.   
“Didn’t you know its impolite to spy on people? How should I go about punishing a stray dog like you?” Paristons grip tightened, and his lips curled into a smile.

Ging knew that trying to overpower a Vampire in this position would be difficult, not having the opportunity to transform, or freely move around to take advantage of his agility.   
But that would all be fair play, and he knew better than to restrict himself to that. His right hand was still in his pocket and clutched the cross.

In a swift motion, Ging pulled his hand out of his pocket, and smacked it flat on Paristons hand. Immediately the smell of burned flesh filled the air, along with a sizzling sound. _Holy shit it actually works-_  
The vampire withdrew his hand with a sharp inhale, and Ging fell to the ground, gasping for air. He looked up to see the other still holding his own hand, most likely covering a severe burn, eyes fixated on him, lips twitching.

Ging knew he should have immediately grabbed his bag and take the stake or holy water.

Or he should have just made a run for it, a werewolf has a vampire beat in speed.

But he just returned the others stare, painfully aware of his own vulnerability.

Paristons lips twitched to a bigger smile, a smile of irritation and disbelief. “Not bad, not bad at all. What’s your name, Mutt?”

“Ging Freecs, if you’d like I can use your ashes to write it down for you.” His eyes darted towards his bag, still next to the tree. He wondered if he could out speed the vampire to take the bag and grab the holy water.

A clap, and a pleased sound drew his attention back. “Ging Freecs, Ging Freecs! Marvelous, I must command you for your bravery. Tell me, are you just blissfully stupid, or did someone order you to spy on me?”

“Do you think I’d voluntarily spy on someone as boring as you? Next time you could at least put on a peep-show or something.”

Silence fell between them, Ging grinned confidently, Pariston replied with a satisfied smile. Time stood still for this moment, a Vampire and a Werewolf acknowledging each other as spiteful creatures.

The moment passed. Ging quickly leaned towards the tree and reached for his bag. _One dash of holy water to burn and distract, and then a quick stab through the heart, and ill be back home before sunrise._

But before Ging could even stand up, or open his bag, a swift kick to his head threw his body against the tree, head hitting the hard bark. His vision faded fast as he fell back onto the ground, numb pain spreading from his head to the rest of his body.

“Don’t worry, we’re not done playing yet~” The last thing Ging saw, was a blurred Pariston towering over him, flashing another smile.

* * *

Ging wasn’t sure how many hours had passed when he awoke. His head felt heavy, and his entire body ached, as if he were going through a bad hangover. Once he opened his eyes, he first saw the thick ropes that bound him into an uncomfortable seated position, unnaturally upright, arms and legs restricted.

It took more effort than he’d like to admit to lift his head, but when he did, he realized the darkness covering the room, only penetrated by a few lit candles on the large dinning table he was seated in front of. The table was decked with gold plated cutlery, and a plate covered by a stainless-steel cloche.

Gings night-sight had never been the best, but it was still good enough to pierce through the darkness of the room and find Pariston sitting at the end of the table, leaned forward on his elbows, chin rested in the palm of his hand. There was a small, burning red spark in his eyes, and he smiled at the werewolf.   
“Good Morning, sleeping beauty. How’s your head?” The vampire chimed.

“Just great, never had a concussion as lovely as this.”

Pariston laughed lightly, as if Ging had told an actual joke before he tilted his head just a tad to the side. “I removed that pesky scarf from your head, I hope you don’t mind. I have to say, a werewolves’ ears are quite sensitive, even while they are passed out.”

Ging grimaced, “I hope you had your fill of touching my ears, because that will never happen again.” His ears twitched involuntary at the thought of someone else coming close to them.

“That’s a shame. It’s my first time I’ve had the pleasure with one of your kind, so I’m naturally curious. You should brush your teeth more often, by the way, I think I spotted some discolorations on your fangs.”

“Did you put your disgusting spider fingers in my mouth?”

“I may have sneaked a peak at the unique canines of a wolf, how truly fascinating!”   
Ging wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or the thought of Pariston prying around in his mouth, that got him close to throwing up on himself.

“So how long are you planning to keep me here, ‘cause it smells like death in here, and I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Pariston, instead of answering, slowly pushed his chair back, and walked leisurely towards Ging. Again, alarm bells rang loudly in his head, even drowning out the numb pain, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. But he could not back away, not even when Pariston laid his hand on his head and ruffled through his hair.   
“To be honest, I was planning to keep you. The relationship between werewolves and vampires can be quite beneficial to both, if they are willing to set aside their differences.” His face came uncomfortably close to Gings, and the werewolf pondered if he could somehow manage to lunge forward and bite the others nose off. “You could go outside in the daylight, and run any errands and surveillance as is needed, and in exchange we can give you the security to hunt whatever and whoever, as much as your wild heart pleases.”

Ging spit, with precision, on Paristons right cheek, who in return jumped a few feet back, hastily grabbed a tissue from his suit, and tried to clean himself.   
“I don’t care much for hunting _whoever._ I’m a simple man, a couple of sheep every few weeks keep me satisfied. You’re disguising yourself as human, while I have kept my humanity intact.”

The vampire stopped wiping at his cheek, and tilted his head again, lips curled again in a playful manner. “Ah~ So it’s like that. A good boy who never bites the shepherd’s hand, never reaps the sheep he’s guarding. Of course, you wouldn’t want to associate with degenerates like us, would you?”

Slowly, carefully, he stepped closer to Gings side again, but stopped at the edge of the table.   
“Are you hungry, Ging? I will happily release you back to your herd, but I would be a horrible host if I didn’t offer you some food first.”

“Does a good host tie his guests to chairs?” Gings head still felt heavy, and he used most of his energy just to keep his eyes focused on the other. Naturally, he was hungry, wanting to recharge on energy. How long had it been again since he had hunted anything?

Pariston lifted the cloche to reveal a piece of meat, still steaming, served with a side of green asparagus and a couple of wedged potatoes.

“My specialty, filet mignon. Rare, ‘kissed by the flame’, served with a side of asparagus and rosemary-potatoes.”

The smell hit Gings nostrils, and he started salivating. He watched Pariston cut into the meat, like a knife cutting into hot butter, the meat seemed tender, and revealed its inner reddish pink. And for a second, Ging had forgotten whatever they had just been talking about. He just saw food, ready to be ate, to satisfy this hunger he had been carrying around.   
It was just when Pariston turned towards him, fork in hand, flashing another toothy grin, that Ging realized.

“This is- “Before the sentence could leave his lips, Paristons hand was firmly grabbing his jaw.   
“It’s bad manners to say you don’t like something before you’ve even tried it.”

Ging dug his nails into the chair he was bound to, tried to rip free from the ropes, tried to release his jaw from the vampire’s iron grip.   
But all in vain.

If he had eaten before going on this mission, or if he could have been thinking clear without a head injury, maybe then he would have had a chance.

But instead, Pariston pressed his mouth open, and insistently pushed the fork carrying a piece of the filet into the werewolf’s’ mouth.

Various images flashed in front of his inner eye. His son Gon, so small, how he promised him he’d be able to grow up between humans and live like one of them. Cheadle, who trusted him with her own life, and the life of everyone in Yorknew, whose kindness had saved his life.   
And the nameless corpse, faceless human, whose flesh Ging was eating.   
Pariston brushed the meat off the work on Gings teeth, and held his mouth closed. As if practiced, he moved his ring finger just under the others jaw, and imitated chewing motions with it.

Slowly, the taste of the meat spread through Gings mouth, coating everything.   
He did not notice when he started to chew by himself. Or when he finally swallowed the bite. Paristons hand was still on his jaw, though it was no longer in a firm grasp but merely resting there as a ghosting touch.

“How did you like it, Ging?” The vampires voice was just above a whisper, and for the first time since he had seen him, Ging saw something other than a dangerous abyss in the others’ eyes. There was no comfort in them, no reassurance or regret. But suddenly he felt like he could understand him. Not entirely, not his existence or his person, but something in his core.

“ _More.”_ Gings voice was strained, hungry, mournful. For the first time in his life, he felt his humanity ripped away from him. And yet he could not care less. All he could care about in the moment was to feed, to indulge in this primal need that he had kept himself from for so long.

Pariston brushed his thumb over Gings cheekbone, “Good boy.”

He proceeded to feed the werewolf the rest of the steak, though he no longer had to motivate him to chew, or open his mouth.

After just a couple of minutes, it was all gone, and Ging let his head hang forward. His face felt hot and flushed, and he licked over his canines and incisors in a desperate attempt to recover any more of the sweet, rich taste he had indulged in.   
He had consumed human flesh, which he had sworn to never do. To never loose this part of his humanity, to keep this moral ground. And it all got thrown out the window. His heart ached with disappointment and regret.

A hand lifted his chin, and he starred back into those deep brown eyes who did this to him.   
“Do you think you want to go back to the village? Play the good sheepdog?” Pariston leaned forward, resting his hands on each of Gings shoulders, whispering in a light tone into his ear, “Do you think you _can_? Now that you know what you’d be missing.” His left hand gently cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to. I’m giving you an option to come with me. Soon we’ll leave this village, and head west towards the next. Join us, and you can taste to your hearts content.” As Pariston pulled back, his lips briefly brushed over Gings skin, chased by shivers and goosebumps.

“Why me? You’ve seemed to be fine hunting so far.” Ging flexed against the tight ropes again.

“Because you intrigue me, Ging Freecs. I want to know more about werewolves, about what they are capable of. What _you_ are capable of.”

With a snap, the ropes came off one after another, a demonstration of Paristons finely sharpened nails. He stood up straight and extended a hand towards the wolf, a devilish smile on his lips.  
“Will you indulge me, Ging?”

And Ging pondered if he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this. I know I got quite self indulgent towards the end, I hope you dont mind~  
> What do you think, what did Ging decide to do? 
> 
> If you have any suggestions for a new fic, or want to share headcanons, feel free to contact me here , or on my tumblr "thethousandyearwitch".


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